Forever Parody: Fountain Of Youth (S01E03)
by stewbeef44
Summary: A parody of the third episode of Forever.
1. Henry Morgan's Day Off

"Gods, what I wouldn't give..." Abe Morgan said, looking out the window of his antiques shop.

Henry Morgan walked over to his adopted son. "Wouldn't give to what?"

"That. Over there." Abe pointed to a boy on a skateboard not too far from the shop.

"Ha, you'd break your hip, Abraham!" It made sense. Abraham Morgan was 70 years old, and not in the best shape of his life. Henry might be able to do it, but as a 200-year-old immortal, he had no interest in skateboarding.

Abe turned around. "I wouldn't be so sure. I was extremely dexterous in my youth. And I may be old, but unlike some people, I like exercise."

"Perhaps we have a different recollection of those days. Remember when you first got your own bicycle?"

* * *

 **Flashback: Abe's seventh birthday party, 1951**

"Oh my gosh, Jimmy, an antique creepy doll from 1910? That's awesome!"

"Yeah, it was in my attic, so I gave it to you," Jimmy answered dryly.

"So all these presents... this doll, the lanyard, the lampshade... you had in your attics, and you decided to give them to me? You guys are the best friends ever!" Abe loved vintage items so much that he couldn't tell that they were using him as a dump site for their unwanted items. Realizing this, Henry got Abe something that he believed no child would put in an attic. He walked into the room with in a shiny new bicycle.

"That's new." Abe said disappointedly. "It might sell in a few years, but..."

"Just try it, Abe! It's not something to sell, it's something you can actually _use_!"

"Alright, but just this once." He walked out. In a few hours, he came back with a bloody nose and a few missing teeth. "Well, I tried it. And now I'm putting it in my attic."

* * *

"Well, we all evolve over time. At least most of us do. Please tell me you're not slaving away in that dungeon of yours. Come on, it's the weekend!"

"I was in my laboratory studying. I've made an incredible discovery about my condition."

"Did you discover that sleep deprivation is bad for you?"

"No. I might have just found a way... to _die_." Henry motioned for Abe to follow him to his basement.

"Youth is wasted on the immortal..." Abe muttered before going down the stairs.

* * *

"So I've been gathering data on my awakenings."

"On your what?"

"When I emerge from the water. I'm uncomfortable with the term rebirth."

"Strange that's the part that makes you uncomfortable. But okay."

"When charting my exact reappearances using eyewitness accounts and the occasional police report, and comparing them with my likely times of death, well..."

"Well, what?"

"Sometimes I stay dead _longer_. Only by a few seconds, but still, it's something. I think it may have to do with the method of death, maybe visceral damage versus nerve damage... where are you going, this is fascinating!"

"No, it's depressing! Let me ask you a question. Let's say that one of these experiments of yours actually works. Would you really do it? Do you want to be gone that badly?"

"Well, no, no... that's not what I'm saying. I want to grow old. To experience the cycle of life, have grey hair, become a curmudgeon like you..."

"Well, yeah, glaucoma and sciatica are both awesome."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and with rheumatoid arthritis, you can predict the weather. I got that from the Farmer's Almanac. It's a well-established journal written by and for octogenarians like me."

"Well, I'll have to read some of their articles then. I do have to keep up on the scientific discoveries of these days, you know."

"And prune juice is delicious."

"Okay, I get it it now. You're being sarcastic."

"Yes, I am. Henry, just because you can't grow old doesn't mean you can't evolve."

"Well, what would you have me do?"

"If I had your condition? Everything."

* * *

 **Meanwhile in the Chinatown neighborhood of New York City...**

It was a cloudless night. The sweat-inducing smell of a fiery, authentic Szechuan hot pot filled the air. On one side of the street, a grocer sold his wares. On the other, a businessman strolled along the alleyway holding a grape smoothie. It wasn't clear why he was carrying a grape smoothie when he could just as easily have gotten a cup of medicinal tea, or a loquat bubble tea, or anything but a grape smoothie. Let's face it, grape smoothies are disgusting. He bumped into someone, spilling the abomination of a beverage all over his suit. While he was distracted, a mugger ran up and snatched his briefcase.

"Hey, what... hey, that's my briefcase! Someone help!"

It didn't seem that he needed any help, though. The man immediately ran to the next car, jumped on top of it, and tackled the mugger. He then started beating the mugger with his fists. After the third punch, he stopped and began shaking. Blood poured out his nose, and he fell over, dead. The mugger got up, took the briefcase, and hobbled away.

* * *

 _There is a whole litany of things we can do to keep death at bay. We can exercise, eat well, put on sunscreen... and though you might try to bargain with death, spare no delusions. It will find you. So if you spend all your time hiding from death, or in my case, searching for it... I guess the question is, were you ever really alive?_

"Morning, doc, how was your weekend? Wistful stroll through Central Park, maybe? Doctor Who marathon? Maybe some scarf shopping?"

"I worked."

"Overtime, huh?"

"I worked in my underground torture sex dungeon."

"Yeah, I worked at mine too."

Henry looked at him with a horrified expression on his face. Lucas didn't notice. "The name of the deceased is Bill Sayle, 67 years old. Paramedics picked him up in Chinatown, possibly killed by a mugger."

Henry took a glance at the corpse. "Judging by the state of his knuckles, Mr. Sayle fought back. Fracture on the ring finger indicates he must have worn a wedding ring, but not for the last year. I don't see a tan line. Also there's some sort of soot on his fingers. Subtle grey flannel with a soft shoulder. It must have been worn at least 30 years ago, but it's been re-tailored recently. The stain on his shirt is a grape smoothie, I believe. Now, let's take a look at what's going on underneath the suit."

Henry removed the suit the deceased was wearing, making a mental note to save it for Abe when the case was over. After all, Abe loved his vintage items.

"Whoa! He's ripped!" Lucas said, looking at the abdomen of the corpse. "He's 67, but he looks like me... after my morning crunches..."

"What could have done this to his body?"

"One thing's for sure. You never can tell how old someone is just by looking at them."


	2. Lucas Is A Food Weirdo

The door swung open as Detective Jo Martinez walked in. "We caught the mugger trying to check into an urgent care facility. Not the smartest person around, he had the briefcase on him. Should we charge him with a homicide?"

Henry shook his head. "Mr. Sayle wasn't killed by the mugger. He didn't have a single contusion, laceration, or abrasion on him other than on his knuckles. His heart was in perfect condition, he had dense bone mass, and robust muscles and joints."

"Okay, then why did he die?"

"The reason Mr. Sayle died was because of his brain. I'll show you... somewhere around here... ah, yes," Henry said, touching the brain of the deceased. "Look at the texture of the amyloid plaques."

Suddenly, the corpse sat up. Jo drew her weapon. "S-stop! I... I will _shoot_ you!"

"It's alright, Jo. I just pressed on the wrong part of the brain. The man died recently, so his reflexes still work."

Jo glared at him. "Goddammit, Henry."

"Ugh, tell me about it. Lucas pranks me all the time doing that."

"Henry, what is it you're saying he died of?"

"It's as if he was suffering from Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, and Huntington's all at the same time. Essentially what we have here is a 67-year-old man with the body of a 30-year-old and the brain of a 100-year-old."

"So you're saying he died of natural causes?"

"I'd say the opposite of natural. We had this concoction in his stomach." He held up a bottle of white, creamy goo. Jo pulled out her gun again. "Henry, if that's what I think it is, I swear to the all of the many gods I worship, I will..."

"It's not that, Jo. I believe it is, however, what killed him."

"Then... what _is_ in that bottle of white, sticky, creamy, gooey..."

"Possibly one of those disgusting nutritional protein shakes?"

"Yeah, I guess it could also be that," Jo said.

Lucas walked in. "Mark Sayle, the son of the victim, is here to see you."

"I'll be right there." Henry and Jo left, leaving Lucas to examine the mystery substance. "Oh, I must have accidentally confused these," Lucas said to himself. "I made this one myself last night while looking at food pictures online!" Lucas looked around, took the mystery substance away, then put a bottle of similarly-colored liquid in its place.

* * *

Henry and Jo walked in to where Mark Sayle was waiting.

"Hello, Mark," said Henry. "I assume you're here to pick up your father's things?

"He's not my dad."

"Excuse me?" asked Jo confusedly.

Mark sighed. "It's him, it's just not the man who raised me. My dad rode the train home to my mom in New Jersey every night for 35 years and fell asleep on his recliner. He certainly didn't have a body like that, or do crossfit, or stay out partying with kids half his age. At least not before..."

"Before your mother passed?" Henry guessed.

"Of cancer, two years ago. After that he became a different person. He forgot about my mom, and he forgot about us."

"Will you give us permission to open your father's briefcase?" Jo asked.

"Sure."

They opened the briefcase to find a picture of a woman on the inside of the lid. "That's my mom," said Mark, his eyes watering.

"We all have different ways of dealing with loss. He never forgot her," Henry said in a way that made it almost seem like he also meant it self-referentially. He looked at it again, and noticed some papers. On one of the pages, there was a rather odd logo. "What's this?" Henry wondered. "The text around it reads, 'Youth, Vitality, Vigor.'" The symbol in the middle is an ourobouros, a snake eating its own tail. It suggests eternal renewal. I wonder if that has something to do with the condition of your father's body."

Jo lifted up the stack of papers, revealing about seven thousand dollars in cash. "Or maybe this does. Do you have any idea what this was for?"

Mark shook his head. "No. He definitely didn't get that kind of money from me."

"Do you know what he was doing in Chinatown?"

"No, I don't. He lived in New Jersey."

Henry and Jo's faces turned to masks of horror and despair. "It's western New Jersey, right? It's not the... the..." Jo whimpered. "Please tell me we don't have to go to... _the Jersey Shore_..."

"Well, if watching police procedural shows have served me well, I'd imagine you do have to go there. It is where he lived." Mark looked around, then whispered, "May the gods favor you both. No one has gone there and returned with their soul not devoured by the denizens of that foul place. Remember when I told you my dad wasn't the man who raised me? Well, that's why. The Orange Ones... they feasted on his soul, bit by bit, until he was simply a husk of a man. An empty shell, waiting to die. Watch yourselves."

* * *

Henry and Jo had decided to go to Chinatown to examine the crime scene. "So this is where Bill Sayle ended up, but it's not going to help us much," Jo told Henry. "The mugger decided the direction they were both running, so we have to figure out where he started."

"Over there." Henry pointed to some skid marks. "They're recent. Bill Sayle had a layer of soot on his left hand and a line of it on his left pant leg. He must have crossed the street and almost got hit by a car." He crossed the street, almost getting hit by a car himself.

He then pointed to a broken box on the sidewalk, containing noodles. I found noodle fragments and wood splinters in his shoes." He noticed a stain in the gutter, so naturally, he laid down facing the ground and started sniffing the area.

"Hey, everybody, check this out!" A crowd had gathered around Henry, taking pictures and videos of him.

"Everybody, this is official police business," Henry said. "Nothing to see here, I'm just doing my investigative duties as a medical examiner for the NYPD." He then started licking the ground.

"This is awesome! I'm putting this on Youtube," one person in the crowd said.

"What's Youtube?" a confused Henry asked, looking up.

"Hey, Henry, this is weird even for you. What are you doing?" Jo asked.

"That's a spill from a grape smoothie. There was a purple stain all over his shirt," Henry said, getting up and brushing himself off.

"Ah, yes. The old pickpocket routine. Spill, grab, and run."

"This is where Bill Sayle started. The corner is where his life ended."

"So where was he going with all that cash?"

Henry pondered this for a moment. "A 67-year-old man who hated downtown... he didn't fit in here." He spotted a woman getting out of a car. "And neither does she. A woman in high heels doesn't do much walking. She has someone drive her."

"I bet she knows what someone can get around here for seven thousand dollars," Jo said. "Let's see where she's headed.

The woman headed down an alley, and into an inconspicuous back door. Once she was inside, Henry and Jo followed. There was an engraving on the door. "An ourobouros," Jo said. "Okay, Henry. Get behind me."

* * *

It was a brightly-lit medical room. There was a lobby, some halls with offices, and a fish tank. It seemed like it was bigger on the inside than on the outside, like a pharmaceutical TARDIS.

"I wonder what they're selling here?" Jo asked.

A television in the room came on, and a televised message played. " _Youth, vitality, vigor. Welcome to_ _the_ _Aeterna_ _Company_ _. I'm Doctor_ _Osbourne_ _Gardner. Let me ask you one simple question. Do you want to live... forever?_ "


End file.
